


why don’t you make me?

by kattyshack



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Banter, Bickering, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dry Humping, F/M, Humor, Kissing, Sexual Content, Texting, Woman on Top, expect nothing of any actual substance, it’s mostly penny’s fault this time, story of my life, that’s it that’s all this is, thirst fic, this was meant to be a drabble but i’m too thirsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-07-17
Packaged: 2020-06-30 08:01:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19848949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kattyshack/pseuds/kattyshack
Summary: In which Theon annoys Sansa into making out with him (and then some).





	why don’t you make me?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> a/n: for penny, because she fucked up my life with her modern au theonsa headcanons so ofc i had to fic them

He’s doing it on purpose. Theon knows it, Sansa knows it, and they both know it’s going to get to her, anyway. It already is.

“Stop trying to make me mad,” she snaps, like that’s going to help (it never does).

Theon spreads his hands, not so much a gesture of surrender as it is an invitation to chuck a pillow at his chest. “I’m literally just sitting here.”

He’s not, of course. He’s been egging Sansa on for the better part of an hour, doing every little thing that annoys her. Snapping his gum, muttering half the chorus of the piña colada song ( _incorrectly_ , by the way) under his breath, switching the TV channel every five to ten minutes, tapping his socked foot on her coffee table… Lots of little things that wouldn’t get to Sansa too terribly, if only he’d stuck with just one at a time.

But no, he’s got to do them all at once, and she knows it’s for something because she’s not _stupid_ , alright, and Theon’s never been good at hiding his smirk.

Sansa glares at him. He huffs out an incredulous laugh. “ _What_ , love?”

She goes on and chucks the pillow at him. “Don’t call me that.”

He catches it, throws it back across the couch at her. “Why so tetchy?”

Now he’s flirting with her and he knows she hates that, too. Because she fancies him and it’s incredibly annoying — though Theon quite likes it, as he fancies her, too.

Sansa doesn't know that _he_ knows how much she’d like to shut him up with her mouth. She doesn’t know that Bran texted him just the other day _‘By the way, Sansa likes you and has no intention of ever telling you, so if you want to stop all your sad, lonely, hilarious-to-the-rest-of-us pining over her, that’s entirely your responsibility. But don’t say I never gave you anything.’_

Now, Bran could be taking the piss, but the kid wouldn’t play with his sister’s feelings like that, so Theon figures he’s good to go. And if Sansa’s dead-set on taking those feelings to the grave, well, then, the only thing he can reasonably do is annoy her into kissing him.

This is, admittedly, the best-case sexual fantasy scenario. But Theon’s never been one to back down from a challenge.

“I’m not _tetchy_.” Sansa scowls, proving that she is, in fact. “Why are you even here?”

“Because my roommate’s having another afternoon delight with your roommate, and we agreed that your flat was our safe haven.”

“No, I meant why are you _here_ , on this planet.”

“Hold on.” Theon raises a finger, and with his other hand he taps something into his phone. Hardly a second later, “I Was Made for Lovin’ You” plays from his music library.

He might deserve getting hit in the face with the pillow this time, but he laughs through it.

“What is it, gorgeous?” Theon tickles her behind the knee. She kicks at him but doesn’t quite make contact. “You _are_ tetchy, tell me why.”

He knows why. Or, at least, he’d like to think he does. It’s up to Sansa to prove it, and she’s being her usual stubborn self. She’d never admit to it, being stubborn — she calls it _tenacity_ , though if you ask Theon it’s the same thing, just wrapped up a bit more prettily. As if Sansa needs to be any prettier than she is; Theon’s having a hard enough time with _that_ , thanks.

“I’m not,” she insists again. “Nosy git.”

Well, fine, if that’s the way she’s going to be…

Theon prods her in the shoulder. Repeatedly. “Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Tell me.”

“What is it you want from me, exactly?”

“For you to tell me.”

“You’re going to keep wanting, then, I’ve got nothing to say.”

“Tell me.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Tell me.”

“I just did.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“ _Truthfully_ , you’re an idiot.”

 _“Sansaaaaa,”_ he whines.

 _“Theooooon,”_ she whines back, and it… does things to him.

He moves his prodding hand down to her thigh, because if he doesn’t touch her just a little bit, he’s going to die. “Tell me.”

“Gods, give it a rest, would you?”

“Tell me.”

She slaps his hand, and he squeezes her leg in response, so high up he’s nearly shoved his hand up her shorts (not quite, not yet). “Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Sansa’s sharp gaze locks on his. “What?”

“I said” — Theon uses the leverage he’s got on her leg to yank her down the couch, making her yelp in surprise, but then she’s swallowing hard when she’s flat on her back and he’s hovering over her, one hand braced on the armrest behind her, with his eyes fixed on her mouth so that she catches his meaning without a doubt — “why don’t you _make me_?”

Her breath hitches and her eyes darken, hot and smoldering like clouds of indigo smoke. Theon’s sure he looks the same, when his gaze flicks to hers and he grins, in that way some might call devilish but really his nerves are scrambling in his throat.

But then —

Sansa rears up, the best she can with him on top of her, but it’s enough to crush her mouth to his.

Theon groans into the kiss, exchanging it for sharp breaths between them as they go hard and fast straightaway. His hand wraps into her hair as he leans back, allowing her to climb into his lap and take control. Sansa strikes him as the type who’d want it, and he’s going to give it to her.

He’s going to give her lots of things, as a matter of fact.

She kisses like she’s furious, like she’s really, properly pissed at him. He’s kind of into it — okay, _really_ into it, he amends when she sucks his bottom lip between her teeth and arches her hips against his.

He’s incredibly, tremendously into that. It’s probably his favourite thing now.

“You drive me mad,” she pants as she pulls kisses from his eager lips. Her fingers twist in his curls and she tugs, just a little to readjust the angle so she can kiss him deeper. _“Certifiably.”_

“Reckon you like it.” His hand slips to her arse, to pull her up tighter against him. He flexes his hips so that she can feel how hard he’s getting for her. “You like that, too?”

 _“Yes.”_ She gasps the word when he rolls up into her, like the clothes between them don’t matter at all. When he laughs, all short and breathy, she pulls his hair a little harder. “Shut up, Theon.”

It’s a difficult thing to deny her, especially when she’s already fused her mouth back to his and, frankly, he wouldn’t want it any other way. She tastes so good, sweet like too much sugar in his tea. And the way that she feels… _Fuck me._ So soft and pliant and eager in his arms, but simultaneously controlled, subdued, like she’s giving him a taste but there’s so much more flavour just waiting for him. Like he hasn’t quite earned it yet, but she’ll give it to him once he has.

She kisses him deep but methodical, like she’s counting to ten before each stroke of her tongue. And every time she swipes it across his lips, she moves her hips in that way that makes his cock twitch.

It’s all measured, deliberate, not wild and reckless the way he wants to make her. He’d let her on top so she could determine where this goes and how quickly it gets there, but Theon’s beginning to think she’ll kill him long beforehand.

So he takes a little of that power back, and unsnaps her shorts.

He doesn’t do anything else, just undoes the button and then sweeps his hands back up her legs. She can still decide where this goes. He just wants her to know where his head’s at, where it would like to be — specifically, buried between her thighs.

She gets the idea, too, and she lets him know it when she half-whines, half-growls into his mouth, “Don’t tease me.”

Theon grins against her lips. “That’s it, baby” — he thrusts upwards, making them both moan — “you wanna boss me around some more?”

It’s been awhile since he’s done much of anything. Ever since he set his sights on Sansa, he’s honed in on her so much that he hasn’t wanted anything else, not so much as a passing fancy. Sansa’s the real thing and he’s wanted to treat her right. But this — this thing he’s feeling, this thundercloud of excitement that’s rolling deep in his gut at the prospect of being told what to do, of doing just what Sansa wants — this is entirely new.

He likes it.

He’s taken a lot of shit, a lot of domineering family and overbearing expectations, and he’s tried to rebel against it, tried not to do what was expected of him because it never felt bloody _fair_. But there’s something else here, something he likes about Sansa telling him what to do, because he wants to do it, if it’s for her. If she wants him. Because even if he annoyed her into it, it was still _there_ , she still wanted him for no other reason than the fact that he’s just precisely who he is.

He needs that. Needs her. And he needs her to let him fuck her. Whichever way she’d like, he’ll do whatever she tells him to.

He wants to make her _ache_.

“You want me, yeah?” he asks her now, as he sucks kisses onto her neck, as his hands roam with no clear objective because he wants all of her, all at once. “Tell me, Sansa. Please.”

“I want you,” she replies immediately, like she knows what he needs and she’s ready to give it to him. “You drive me up the wall, but I want you.”

He huffs another laugh behind her ear. “Then tell me what to do.”

“Why bother?” Sansa wants to know, even as she busies herself with the underside of his jaw. “You never listen.”

“I’ll listen to you now.” He pushes his hands up her shirt as if to prove it, like she could use her tits to make him do whatever she likes (which, obviously, she could). He nips at her earlobe. “Go on and tell me, love.”

She pushes him back, so abruptly that for a moment Theon thinks he must have overstepped or misinterpreted or… something else to mess this up. But then she’s looking at him, all dark eyes and swollen lips — she looks like she _wants him_ , for fuck’s sake — and she tells him, “Take off your shirt” and it makes him fucking _shake_.

“Yup. Yes yes yes. Yup. Yes.”

He’s babbling, but it makes her smirk so he’s not too troubled by it. He tugs the shirt over his head and tosses it aside, ready and willing to get as naked as she wants him. He sort of owes her, anyway, after the last hour of pissing her off on purpose, just on the off-chance that they’d get to this point.

“Thank you,” Sansa says, prim and proper as ever, but there’s something self-satisfied about the way she drags her fingertips down his naked chest. Something entirely _naughty_ that makes Theon grip her hips and thrust more purposefully up against her, that would make him rip away the clothes that separate them both from really _feeling_ , if only —

“No.” She smacks his wandering hands away. “Don’t touch me.”

He frowns, brow furrowed, and licks his lips. “I don’t like this game anymore.”

That makes her chuckle, but she schools her expression into one of the utmost seriousness just as effortlessly. “You want me to tell you what to do, don’t you?”

“Yes, but —”

Sansa pushes a finger to his lips to stem whatever half-arsed protest he’d had in mind. “Then let me tell you.”

Maybe this isn’t exactly what Theon had pictured when he’d started to poke and prod her into admitting she wanted him. But he can’t say he doesn’t like where it’s going, either, because _oh gods, yes_ he does. In a way he’d never given so much as half a thought about before, giving up control is this incredibly liberating thing, when it’s in the hands of someone he trusts, when it’s with someone he wants to please.

“Alright.” Theon’s throat is fuck-all dry, but he holds his hands up in surrender now. He won’t touch her ‘til she tells him to. “Tell me, then.”

She shivers. He can feel the tremors as she sits in his lap, in the slight lurch of her hips, in the little shift she does to press her cunt against his dick. God damn it, but he wants them both naked from the waist down and he wants it _now_.

But he’ll be patient. It’s never been a virtue of his, but he’ll do it for Sansa. He’ll do all sorts of things for her. To her. All that.

She’s a tad uncertain, like she’s never done this before but perhaps she’s wanted to. Theon’s well chuffed that he’s the one who’s given her the chance. He’ll probably rub it in her face later, but in a loving, wholly devoted and worshipful and all the rest sort of way. Likely there will be a bouquet of yellow daisies or a grateful fruit basket involved, but he’ll figure that out later. Right now he’s got a dominant but squirming Sansa in his lap, and that takes precedence over literally everything else.

“I want to touch you,” she says, and finally (though it’s not been so long at all, but still) Theon can breathe. “So you just… sit there, shut up, and let me do it.”

So, he does.

And she’s _definitely_ going to kill him.

Sansa touches like she kisses — thoughtfully, thoroughly, but where there had been fervor in her lips, there’s patience in her fingertips. Despite his best efforts (though they’d admittedly not been all that great), Theon hasn’t got any patience of his own to speak of.

 _“Sansa —”_ He hisses her name between his teeth when her nails graze down his abdomen, stopping just above the band of his jeans, the strain in his trousers. “Love, you’re gonna kill me.”

“Hands to yourself.” She raises an eyebrow at his twitching fingers, curling in and out of a fist at his side, as if daring them to disobey her.

Theon would gladly lose that bet if it meant he got to feel her up, like, right now. But Sansa has other plans for him. Teasing, torturing sort of plans but, Theon supposes, if he’s going to die then this is the way to do it. He really hopes someone thinks to carve _‘Died with Sansa Stark straddling his lap’_ into his gravemarker.

When she flattens her palms atop his chest, trailing them after the light scars there — products of a reckless youth, more or less — his hips jerk involuntarily, and hers follow suit. The heat of her cunt is too much to take without actually _taking it_ , so he loses his head a moment and flicks her zipper down, tugging at her shorts so he can get a look at what’s underneath them.

“Theon,” Sansa admonishes with another slap, but this time he won’t be deterred. “You’re not being a very good boy, are you?”

Fuck, maybe she _has_ done this before. Or maybe she’s just enjoying it with him as much as he is with her.

“Uh-uh.” He shakes his head, tosses her a mischievous smirk. “You wanna smack my arse?”

“I might.” She snakes a hand underneath him to give it a squeeze instead, encouraging him to roll his still-clothed dick up against her again. She moans and clutches at his shoulders. “Hold my hips.”

“Yes’m.”

Theon takes the opportunity to push her shorts down a little more before he shoves his hands up her shirt, rucking it up when he holds onto her. He rubs his thumbs along her hip bones, urging her to move with him as he fucks her through their clothes.

Sansa’s hands drag down to map his bare chest. “You look good like this.”

“Like what?” he wants to know, all heavy breaths through quirked-up lips. “Half-naked and totally at your mercy?”

She grins, pleased. “Yes.”

“You want me all the way naked and underneath you anytime soon?”

She clicks her tongue. “So impatient.”

“Enthusiastic,” he corrects her. His hands flex on her hips and he goes a little harder.

“Don’t you want to make me happy?” She pouts, then grins again when her hands push through his hair. She scoots closer, still riding him steadily as she kisses his neck.

Theon grits his teeth, trying to keep control. “I’ll make you happy with my cock.”

She tuts at him again; there’s a smile in it that drives him wild. “Who’s in charge?”

“ _You_ , baby.” He groans when she nibbles at his earlobe, and bucks up more insistently. “Gods, Sansa, let me —”

“What do I have to do to get you to shut up, Theon?”

“Dunno. Maybe you should sit on my face.”

She mewls into the side of his neck. _Good._ He nudges her jaw so that he has room to dip down and mouth at her throat.

“Or you could ride me without all these fucking clothes on,” he suggests, low and rough, “let me suck on your tits… show me who’s boss…”

“It sounds like you’re trying to tell me what to do.”

“I’m trying to get you wet.” He licks across her collarbone. “You wet for me yet, Sansa?”

Her sultry little moan makes him hold her tighter. She takes his wrist, inviting his hand to pass through her undone zipper. “Find out for yourself.”

_Oh, fuck yes._

It’s a bit awkward, to rid Sansa of her shorts while she’s sat in his lap — like hell is Theon about to let her go anywhere — but they manage it well enough. Maybe Theon gets a knee to his gut, but that’s alright, because he tosses her little denim cut-offs clear across the room and she’s that much closer to naked.

Her panties are a deep, vibrant purple, edged in black lace. Theon wants to trace that pattern with his tongue. If he had the self-possession for it, he’d trace all of her with his tongue — _but_. Well. Another day, perhaps.

“Permission to shove my hand down your pants, then?” he asks with another grin.

“You should have done it by now,” Sansa tells him. She toys with the snap of his jeans. “And then maybe I’ll shove my hand down yours, too.”

“Fuck me, _thank you_ ,” Theon mutters on a huff of perhaps overzealous breath, but can he really be blamed for that (no, he can’t)? Without any further tease, he busies his mouth at her neck and his fingers inside of her.

He finds her warm and wet and so tight that it makes him groan. He pumps one finger inside of her and feels her nails bite into his shoulders, feels her squirm in his lap and her hot breath in his ear. He sucks a mark behind hers and she gaasps his name, asking for more — “ _Theon_ , please —”

“Thought I was the one who’s supposed to do the begging here, love,” he reminds her, soft as he flicks his tongue along her earlobe. “Please, Sansa, can I put another finger inside your cunt?”

“Yes.” He’s got her panting now, licking up the side of his neck, making him curse as he slips his middle finger inside along with the first. _Fuck_ , but she’s ready for him…

He crooks them both and uses his thumb on her clit. She trails kisses over his face, stopping only when he moves his fingers just right, so that she can’t concentrate on so much as her own lips — it’s only Theon’s hand in her panties, and the other pushing her hair back so he can watch her face as he works her towards her peak.

“You’re so damn fit, so fucking beautiful,” he murmurs, short of breath as he moves his fingers faster, his hips joining the movements as she rocks against him. “You gonna let me fuck you, Sansa?”

Her lips ghost over his, then cling when she tells him, “Say please.” He tastes her moan when he curls his fingers and strokes her clit at once.

“ _Please_ , Sansa,” he replies dutifully. His free hand finds one of hers, and guides it to the bulge in his trousers. He wants her to touch him, needs it. “Let me fuck you. I want to watch you on top of me.”

“I’m already on top of you,” she teases, but the effect is somewhat lost when he makes her moan again, high and sharp, the sweetest sound he’s ever heard.

She fumbles with his jeans, pushes her hand through the slit in his boxers to wrap it around his hard, aching cock. “ _Oh_ , you do want it, don’t you?”

“Fuck me, Sansa,” he says again. Between her touch and that surprisingly, fucking _delightfully_ filthy mouth of hers, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind. “I want you so fucking _bad_ —”

He can’t take much more. So he pulls his fingers out of her, making her groan with disappointment this time, but he’ll make it up to her in about point-two seconds.

 _“Theon —”_ she whines his name in protest at the loss of contact. “I was so close.”

“I’ll get you there, baby,” Theon promises.

He’s not one to waste time, so before she can say anything else, he’s got her legs ‘round his waist and both of them up off the couch, half-naked and flushed, short of breath and so turned on it’s a wonder he can carry her down the hall to her bedroom. He’ll chalk it up to his single-minded determination to fuck Sansa in a bed, because there’s more room to work her there.

It goes a little more fast and frenzied from there.

Theon drops her onto the mattress and nudges her backwards, crawling over her and capturing her mouth in a series of sloppy, deep kisses. He yanks her panties down while she pushes at his jeans, and he kicks out of them all the way as he drags his mouth down her body. He latches his mouth onto her cunt, sucking on her clit as he tugs on her shirt — he wants her naked by the time he’s gotten her off the first time.

Once Sansa tosses her shirt aside, she unclips her white lace bra, too. Theon’s of half a mind to tell her to keep it on. But he wants to see all of her, and he figures he can tear lingerie off of her another time. Maybe later tonight, even. 

He reaches up to palm at her breast. He sweeps his thumb over her nipple in time with every stroke of his tongue inside of her. She tastes tangy and sharp, like salt and _want_ , and he wants her. 

He keeps at it ‘til he feels her muscles tense, her walls constrict, her hands threaded through his curls and pulling, the shudder of her body as she comes and the sound of his name falling from her kiss-swollen lips.

“Condom?” He licks a stripe up the line of her stomach, and sucks at the side of her breast as she continues to come down from her high.

“Nightstand.” She gestures vaguely with one hand while the other pushes her hair back from her face. “I just — need a minute…”

“You have until I get a condom on.” Even as he digs through the drawer, Theon keeps touching her. The curve of her waist, her tits, the wave of her hair, he can’t get enough of her. “Then we’re gonna fuck.”

“I thought I was the one who was bossing _you_ around,” Sansa points out. She snatches the foil packet from his grip and peels it open, but he snatches it back before she can do anything else. If she touches his cock again it’s all over.

“You’re just… really fucking hot, okay? It’s messing with my head. I keep getting the power dynamics mixed up.” Theon shrugs as he rolls the condom on. He flashes her another smirk. “Get on top of me again and make me work for it.”

 _“Hmmm…”_ She hums as she trails a foot up his leg. “If that’s the way you want me, Daddy.”

_Seven bloody fucking hells —_

A low growl rips from his throat when they flip positions. His fingernails pinch her hips when she settles on top of him, rubbing her cunt slowly up against his hard cock. “Maybe I should be calling you that.”

“Maybe you should,” Sansa agrees with a grin, with her hands twisted in his hair so she can urge him up towards her lips. “Or maybe you should just be a good boy and fuck me like you want to.”

If Sansa’s the one telling him what to do, Theon doesn’t need to be told twice.

He pushes inside of her, groaning at the relief of her tight heat. His hands grasp her arse to move her with him, as she circles her hips in delicious time with his thrusts. He keeps his mouth on hers, pulling kisses and gasps and sighs from her, trading them for the scrape of his teeth across her bottom lip and gruff litanies of her name.

“ _Sansa_ — oh, _gods_ , Sansa —” His inhalations are sharp and shallow, petering out into another groan when she undulates in his lap. “You’re fucking me so good, sweetheart. How does it feel for you, baby? You like riding me?”

“ _Mmm_ , yes…” Her touch roams over him, through his mess of shaggy curls and down to his abdomen and back again. It makes him shiver. “God, you feel so good inside of me…”

He grins into the kiss he’s pulling from her neck. “Don’t want me to shut up anymore, do you?”

“Nuh-uh.” She shakes her head, long tresses of red tickling his face, his chest. Her arms twine around him, holding him closer so that he can fuck her deeper. “I want you to keep talking to me. Tell me how much you like fucking me.”

“Oh, gods, I _love_ fucking you.” Theon goes harder, matching the steadily quickening pace she’s set. “I love this tight pussy, love you dirty talking to me” — he twists a hand into the ends of her hair and pulls — “love watching your tits bounce while you fuck me with that sweet hot cunt of yours… I’m gonna spend the rest of the night with my mouth on you again…” He kisses up her throat to catch her lips. “Then I want your mouth on me, too. Want you to put on more of that red lipstick you like so much and get it on my cock. You want that, baby? Want to watch me on my knees for you? Want to get on yours for me?”

“Yes — _yes_ , Theon —” Sansa swivels her hips, a sharp circle that makes him bite down on her shoulder to keep from shouting loud enough to get her evicted. “You make me so hot, baby, I want to do everything with you —”

Christ, but does that make his heart fit to burst.

“That’s it,” he encourages her as he feels her start to flutter around him again. “You wanna come for me, Sansa? You know how good it is when I make you come now, don’t you?”

“You, too.” She licks along the seam of his lips and swallows his moan. “I want you to come, too. Do it, Theon. Come for me.”

She keeps one hand in his hair while the other slips between them. He can feel her play with her clit as he thrusts into her — it makes him fuck her harder, makes him hold tight and cling to her, makes him lose his rhthym and all control.

Her nails pinch half-moon patterns into the back of his neck when she cries out his name, and he chokes out hers — _Theon Sansa Sansa Sansa Theon Sansa_ —

Fuck, it sounds so good.

They collapse against one another, swallowing air like they’ve been too busy drowning in each other to bother breathing. Their hands are tangled in the other’s hair, limbs wrapped together like they’ll never be apart. Theon doesn’t want them to be, and the way Sansa’s holding him tells him she doesn’t, either.

He’d poked and prodded for her to tell him earlier, so he might as well tell her now.

He kisses her temple. His lips stick a little. “I’m fucking mad about you, by the way. In case you couldn’t tell.”

“You drive me crazy in about a hundred different ways.” She laughs, shaky as she tries to steady herself. Her touch is gentle as she rubs his back. “And I think the most maddening one is how much I fancy you.”

“That so?” He leans back to grin at her, but makes sure to keep holding her close. His fingers creep up her thigh. “Reckon I could think up a few more ways to keep you crazy for me, too.”

“Oh, I bet you could.”

When he kisses her, she laughs again, and it tastes like they’re on to something good.

*****

**_MARGAERY TYRELL created the chat WELL… WELL… WELL._ **

**_MARGAERY TYRELL added SANSA STARK, THEON GREYJOY, and YARA GREYJOY to the chat_ **

**MARGAERY** : i have a riddle:  
why are sansa’s shorts in the middle of the lounge?

 **SANSA** : _typing…_

 **THEON** : that’s not a riddle

 **SANSA** : I was doing laundry.

 **MARGAERY** : oh, is that what we’re calling theon now?

 **SANSA** : _typing…_

 **THEON** : _typing…_

 **MARGAERY** : save it, you vicious tarts, i could hear your cries of ecstasy from the corridor.

 **YARA** : Ew.

 **MARGAERY** : I’M SO PROUD

 **SANSA** : You heard that???

 **THEON** : god i am so good at having sex with sansa

 **YARA** : UGH.

 **MARGAERY** : heard even more when i got into the flat, too.

 **SANSA** : Why would you come in?????

 **MARGAERY** : because good porn is expensive and this was free?

 **SANSA** : You were literally just at Yara’s. What do you need porn for? More importantly, what do you need to listen to ME for??

 **YARA** : Yeah, actually, I’m wondering the same thing??

 **MARGAERY** : come now, darlings, you know me — i love love.

 **SANSA** : You have to leave.

 **THEON** : seconded  
stay away from my woman

 **MARGAERY** : :(

 **SANSA** : I’m not going to give you permission to listen to Theon and I have sex.

 **MARGAERY** : i thought we were friends!  
BEST friends!!

 **SANSA** : We need to talk about boundaries later.

 **MARGAERY** : blah.  
if that’s where this is going, you can have the flat all weekend so long as you let theon fuck your pretty little brains out the whole time. maybe then you’ll forget about such nonsensical and hurtful things.

 **SANSA** : …Can I really have the flat all weekend?

 **THEON** : ::panting::

 **YARA** : Christ, man, pull yourself together.

 **MARGAERY** : of course you can. i just came by to pick up a change of clothes.  
not that i need them, really, but yara does love to tear skimpy lingerie off of me, and who am i to deny her of her favourite pastime?

 **YARA** : It would break my bloody heart.

 **MARGAERY** : tell me, my sweet sweet positively naughty sansa, is that a greyjoy family trait?

 **THEON** : YUP.

 **MARGAERY** : let’s compare notes!

 **SANSA** : Sunday night, when you’re back and I’m not so distracted.

 **THEON** : it’s me i’m the distraction  
i’m trying to feel her up as we speak

 **YARA** : Fuckin’ keep it in your pants for five seconds.

 **THEON** : i can’t  
i’m not wearing pants  
sansa made me take them off  
she’s so bossy  
::panting::

 **YARA** : I’m kicking your arse later.

 **MARGAERY** : you’re getting me all hot and bothered now. i need to get back to yara.  
ta, sansa love. see you sunday. make good choices.

 **SANSA** : You know, I think I already have.

 **MARGAERY** : god that’s so bloody romantic  
i’m screenshotting that and giving it to theon for his birthday

 **THEON** : i would fucking love that, actually

 **SANSA** : We have to go now.

 **THEON** : yes goodbye forever everyone

**_SANSA STARK left the chat_ **

**_THEON GREYJOY left the chat_ **

**YARA** : …you’d better not be listening at the door.

 **MARGAERY** : trust me, i don’t even need to be. they might be even louder than we are.

 **YARA** : I have no desire to know enough about my brother’s sex life to test that theory, but you should still scoot your fine arse back here so we can annoy the shit out of my neighbors, too.

 **MARGAERY** : aye aye, captain. ;)  
oh god do you think sansa and theon also have a pirate kink?????

 **YARA** : I don’t want to know.

 **MARGAERY** : i’ll ask her later.

 **YARA** : ……………………  
Sigh.


End file.
